


Curious (I Hope You're Sure)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [55]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: This is a question Fareeha could just as easily have asked of herself—how can she count Angela as a friend, who has so often spoken out against her methods, her career of choice, her way of life?  The answer is simple: for all that their beliefs differ, for all that they cannot agree on what it looks like to do the right thing, what they want is the same.  Both of them are so passionate in these disagreements only because they care so much about helping those who need them.  Ultimately, Fareeha would much rather serve alongside Angela, who will disagree with her for the right reasons, than with others who would agree with her for the wrong ones.Or,In trying to better understand Angela, and her feelings for said doctor, Fareeha learns a good deal about herself.





	Curious (I Hope You're Sure)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clithroe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clithroe/gifts).



> hmm so like in october clithroe dmd me on tumblr and said some nice stuff abt my fics (like really nice!) and i was like gee, thanks, lmk if u ever have a request... and the request was smtg like touch rom fareehas pov and i was like "well... control already exists--i wrote it first" but then i was like eh. i can always write More. so then last week i took a long look at what makes those two works thematically different & kinda... worked from there. and wrote two 10k fics that were meant to be 5k to mirror them, love--which i posted earlier in the wk--and this!

When one thinks about oneself, and when others think about oneself, there is always a disconnect, even if small, a gap between one’s inner self, the self one projects to the world, and the self others perceive.  This, Fareeha Amari knows better than most, as she trades various outer selves like masks when the situation calls for it; Fareeha who makes terrible puns on base and who loves poetry and classic rock is not the same as Captain Amari, who takes orders from her commanding officers silently and does not flinch when they say she is every inch her mother, and neither of them is the same as Pharah, who is a leader, who is allowed to think critically and to question orders if it means protecting the innocent, but is never, ever allowed to be frightened.  None of these people is the whole of Fareeha, truly, and those who have seen one or two parts of her could not hope to know her—indeed, even those who have known all three still cannot quite capture the scope of her being, the depth of it.

(Such does not bother her; Fareeha, too, struggles to reconcile the different parts of herself, at times, to make them make sense as one whole.  Which part of her is more real, she cannot say.)

Still, it can be irksome, at times, to be misjudged.  For the most part, the traits people ascribe to Fareeha are not inaccurate.  Yes, she is loyal and yes, she can be brave, yes at times she is in turn charismatic, confident, competent, and clever.  But she is also _curious_ , something that others always seem to miss, when trying to puzzle out the whole of her person, to sus out her motivations.  

It does not fit, she supposes, with the image of a good soldier, _curiosity_ , would seem to draw into question her loyalty.  How can she follow orders if she examines critically why they are given, if she demands answers where she cannot have any?  _Her mother_ , Fareeha’s critics tell her, _would not have done the same._

Perhaps that is so, but to Fareeha, questioning is another form of loyalty.  Once, she repressed this urge, forced herself to just follow orders blindly and it was—well, it worked, for a time, but eventually she realized that she could not always choose the mission over the man, could not do as she was told if she believed that such was not right.

(After all, she read her mother’s letter, even if she never knew how to respond to it.  Ana followed orders, always, even when it hurt her deeply to do so, and look where it got her?  Alive or not, that Captain Amari is dead.  Fareeha will not be the second to make that mistake, will not let herself follow down that path, be consumed by grief and guilt and whatever else haunts the dreams of someone who gave their morality for the greater good.)

If the organizations Fareeha serves, now, cannot hold up to her scrutiny, cannot bear her questions, then they do not deserve her loyalty—and if they can, then the process of being so questioned will surely help them, in the future, when others who question them, not in good faith as she did, but in bad, do the same, will prepare them for such. 

Such reasoning is what drives her to Overwatch, in the end, to the Recall.  From Helix, there is no good answer forthcoming as to why they failed to report the escape of the third Doomfist, Akande Ogundimu, until after he had already been publicly spotted in Numbani, had already caused fatalities in his quest to be reunited with his gauntlet.  So, she leaves.  She leaves and she joins Overwatch, where Winston does his best to answer all of her questions, does not think them impertinent for he is a scientist, not a soldier, and she knows that she will not risk the life of herself, those under her command, or civilians because she was given incomplete information.

Perhaps this is oversimplifying her motivations.  She goes, also, because she is curious.  Not righteously so, not demanding answers in order to ensure the integrity of the missions she goes on, or the organizations she serves, but because she just _wants to know_.  What is it like to be in Overwatch, surrounded by such extraordinary people day in and out?  What is it like to be not only a soldier, but a hero?  What is it like to live out her childhood dream?

If she did not go, how could she live with herself?  How could she sleep at night, knowing she missed her chance to answer those questions?

Other people to not see Fareeha as curious, but it is nearly as important a motivator in her life than her sense of duty, her desire to see justice, the need to bring order.  All of these are simply ways of making sense of a senseless world.

So, curiosity brings Fareeha to Overwatch, and from there, it brings her to Angela Ziegler.

Most of the people in Recalled Overwatch have a clear reason to be there, have a history that compels them to return to the organization, or are brought along with someone who does.  Like the rest of them, Angela has a history, but hers is decidedly less positive.

Yes, Jesse left as Overwatch was collapsing, fled because he knew that given his former outlaw status, his role in Blackwatch would be held to the utmost scrutiny if he stayed, and it was not unlikely that he would bear the brunt of any punishment.

Yes, Genji hated the man that he became as a result of cybernetization, but he never hated Overwatch—or Dr. Ziegler—for having done so to him, hated only the fact that it was necessary at all, would rather be a cyborg than dead, or no longer able to do the things he loved.

Yes, Reinhardt was forced into retirement by Overwatch, was told they no longer needed him, that his contributions were no longer necessary, that he was a liability, at his age, but he never _wanted_ to leave Overwatch, always hoped that those in control of such matters would come to their senses and allow him to return, for it is the only home he has remaining.

Angela Ziegler is none of those people.

Fareeha is curious: why rejoin an organization you testified against?  Perhaps Angela was not _eager_ to see Overwatch fall, as some were, but she certainly did nothing to stop such from happening.  When the U.N. Tribunal called her forth as a witness, she did not mince words, detailed at length the disagreements she had had with the organization over the course of fifteen years, all the ways in which she felt they fell short ethically, and the ways in which, even with good intentions, they created more harm than good.  She testified against her commanders, her friends, herself, and she did so publicly, with cameras rolling, her unsmiling face broadcast to the world as she told everyone what it was to be in Overwatch during their crisis in leadership, to watch as Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes—once heroes, now casualties—tore themselves, and the rest of Overwatch with them, apart.

(The answer comes in time, and it is this: Angela Ziegler has nowhere else to go, and no one else to turn to.  So Fareeha learns, on a long night in the MedBay, she and Jesse both recovering from injuries in the field.  Angela, only Doctor Ziegler to her, at the time, thinks that she is sleeping, and speaks to Jesse more freely than Fareeha has yet heard her speak to anyone, more openly and honestly, and she tells him that he cannot be stupid like that again, that she does not care if he has a deathwish, he is her _friend_ , her oldest and only family, the only one to ever return to her, after she thought she lost them, and it may be all well and good to him, if he dies, but it is she who will live with the consequences, with the guilt, with the thought that she could have done more to save him, had she only been faster.  _I came back for you_ , says she, _For all of you.  I won’t let anyone else I love die.  I can’t._ )

Fareeha is curious: how can a person who rejoined an organization which used her, which eroded her faith in herself and in humanity, and exploited her life’s work, claim to have done so for the sake of the people for whom she cares, and yet seem so cold?  That one moment of tenderness between Angela and Jesse was not one that Fareeha was meant to see, and in the ensuing months there is no other indication, from Angela, that those are her feelings, no matter how much time and effort Fareeha spends in attempting to befriend her, hoping that she will open up.  For someone who can be so caring when treating patients, so positive when administering necessary medications, Angela is terribly aloof when not actively performing her duties.  She eschews team meals, team game nights, team _anything_ in favor of researching, or filing paperwork, or otherwise hiding somewhere on base. 

(This is a question that Fareeha sees answered in passing: Angela will urge Jesse to quit smoking, or order Reinhardt to be more careful out in the field, or scold Fareeha herself for twirling live munitions.  Then, Fareeha begins to suspect something that will not be confirmed for her for many months yet, that Angela tries to distance herself from them not because she dislikes any of them, because she does not care, but because she cares _too much.  L_ ater, Angela will admit that she is afraid of losing people, again, afraid to let herself get to close, lest she suffer further.  While Fareeha cannot relate, exactly, to Angela's experiences, to how she expresses her fears, she does understand, knows what it is to lose her squadmates, to have allowed herself to grow close to someone only for them to have been ripped violently from her life.  But for Fareeha, at least, the finality of death is sometimes hard to grasp—her mother returned to her, after a fashion, and Angela ensures that the rest of them can, too, that they are not so susceptible to death as the general populace, at least not on a permanent basis.)

Fareeha is curious: why is it that Angela seems to tolerate her, above the other people on base?  Tolerate is the word she chooses, in the early days, because she is not sure if they are friends, not really.  If they were any other two people, they would be, but Fareeha cannot be certain why it is that Angela seems more willing to join her for one-on-one exercises, to linger in the kitchen when she is there, to hold conversations in passing on the drop ship and in the locker room.  But friendliness is not friend _ship_ , and for all that they talk, these conversations often seem only surface level, in the early months, are about everything and nothing, so long as they never push at any sensitive points, never venture into dangerous emotional territory.

(This is something Angela never fully answers, not directly, anyway: some days, she tells Fareeha that she is easy to talk to, is the sort of person other people want to befriend, but Fareeha knows that it is nothing so simple as that, for there are others on base who are surely just as affable—and Angela and Lúcio’s relationship is nothing like her own.  Other days, she tells Fareeha that there was envy there, a desire to be close to someone she was, then, as _better_ in some way, as undamaged, as shining and bright.  Fareeha is none of those things, of course, and both of them know such by that point, and it strange to think of, Angela seeing her in such a light.  Together, however, that desire to be close, that envy, they coalesce into _attraction_ , Fareeha thinks, and that makes more sense.  Of course, it would be oversimplifying to say that they only grew close because Angela was attracted to her, and neither of those emotions folds entirely into attraction, not always, but it is something close to an explanation, as near to one as either of them will get.)

Fareeha is curious: what does Angela think of Ana?  Such matters to her because all of the older members, and even some of the younger ones, have impressions of her very strongly colored by their experiences with the _other_ Captain Amari.  It colors her every interaction with the team, who seem to have adored Ana, and alternately expect Fareeha to follow in her footsteps, or seem to believe that she never could.  Angela’s feelings seem much more complicated.  Once, she tells Fareeha that she is her mother’s daughter, and she says so as praise, but when Fareeha expresses discomfort—however slight—she never repeats it, and does not question why that reaction may be, unlike the others who want so badly to defend a woman who would not even defend herself.  A few months later, the two of them are on watch together, the sky above them large, dark, and starless for they are too near to a city, and Angela says that Fareeha is nothing like Ana, and that is intended as praise, too.  For the most part, Angela says nothing of Ana at all, and it makes her much easier to be around than the others.  In her eyes, Fareeha is allowed to be her own person, and she does not speak of Fareeha’s goals in terms of what her mother would have done, does not hold her up to some impossible standard.  For whatever reason, it is she who remembers best that Ana was not perfect.

(This is something that becomes more clear when her mother returns: there is a rifle powered by familiar technology in her arms, and Fareeha knows what that must mean.  By then, Fareeha knows that Angela sees her technology as an extension of herself, and would take what was, to her eyes, a misuse of it as a betrayal.  Yet Angela seems also to look up to Ana, to be unable to fully shake what once must have been a very deep-seated loyalty and respect.  Fareeha can empathize.  What is more, she realizes very quickly that it is safe, when she is with Angela, to discuss her true—complicated, neither entirely negative nor entirely positive—feelings about her mother’s return.  While Angela does not understand, not fully, for no one could, she knows better than most how difficult it can be to forgive Ana, who does what she thinks is best and therefore sees no need to apologize for her actions, even when they hurt the people for whom she cares.  Angela is the only one who does not urge Fareeha to reconcile before she is ready, who listens to her complain at length without interjecting, who knows that Ana is deeply flawed—but knows, too, what it is to long for one’s mother, understands that despite everything, Fareeha _does_ want Ana back in her life.)

Fareeha is curious: how can a woman so dedicated to science simultaneously be religious?  At first, Angela’s religiosity is foreign and unobtrusive enough that she does not recognize it, but one day, when Angela is explaining the rationale behind her resurrection, why she believes it is not, in fact, playing god, but instead is acting in accordance with what her god would want, Fareeha is suddenly very aware that, although Angela scoffs at superstition, she _does_ believe in things beyond that which can be seen, observed, measured.  To Fareeha, who has never believed in any sort of higher power, and practices Islam more out of a sense of duty to her heritage than anything else, it is strange.  On a daily basis, Angela performs what might have a century ago been called miracles, and she sees even more of them.  Where is there room for a god, when one can bring back the dead for oneself?  She thinks she might understand, when Angela speaks of seeing souls, only for that theory to be summarily quashed by Torbjörn interjecting that SOUL is an acronym for the life force which appears on the Valkyrie suit’s HUD. 

(This is something Fareeha eventually decides she has found a possible answer to, but does not dare ask for confirmation, for fear of unintentionally causing offense.  When Angela speaks of religion, she speaks not only of belief, but of ethics, of a strict outline of what is _good_ and _proper_ , what one should do in order to best act for the betterment of society.  On those terms, Fareeha supposes she can understand faith—it is helpful, she thinks, to have a series of ethical guidelines, particularly when one’s work is something which is quite controversial, such as resurrection.  It is nice to know that, ultimately, _someone_ approves of your actions, to hear that what you are doing is all well and good.  Perhaps this is not Angela’s reasoning, but Fareeha thinks it makes sense.  In her un-death, Ana has done the same.)

Fareeha is curious: how can a woman who is a pacifist carry a weapon, serve amongst soldiers, count them as her friends?  Or, more importantly to her by this point in their relationship, how can Angela consider _Fareeha_ a friend?  Clearly, she does, despite their differences in methods and opinions, does not hold against Fareeha any differences in opinion.  Even when their strategic discussions grow quite heated, at the end of the day she and Angela still join each other for dinner, still clean their dishes side by side, still speak to one another about matters they would not dare to entrust anyone else with.  Surely, she and Fareeha ought to hate one another, ought to consider each other little more than a thorn in one another’s side and yet—they do not.  Far from it, in fact.  Out of everyone on base, it is Angela whom Fareeha feels closest to, least judged by.  No matter how angry they may be when squaring off in meetings, that animosity does not carry over outside of it, and they maintain respect for one another, despite everything.

(This is a question Fareeha could just as easily have asked of herself—how could she count _Angela_ as a friend, who has so often spoken out against Fareeha’s methods, her career of choice, her way of life?  The answer is simple: for all that their methods differ, for all that they cannot agree on what it looks like to do the right thing, what they _want_ is the same.  Both of them are so passionate in these disagreements only because they care so much about protecting the innocent, helping those in need, saving whom they can.  In the end, they can respect one another because, for all of their seeming differences, what they want is the same, and they are equally driven to achieve it.  Fareeha would much rather serve alongside Angela, who will disagree with her for the right reasons, than others who would agree with her for the wrong ones.)

Fareeha is curious: why is it that, of anyone, she has come to confide in Angela, undoubtedly the most emotionally inaccessible member of the Recall?  She does not mean to do so, but one day they are acquaintances, and then they are friends, and before Fareeha knows it, she is telling Angela about her insecurities, her fears, her hopes, her dreams all that which she would otherwise keep buried within herself.  Surely it would make the most sense to tell such things to Zenyatta, who is always willing to dispense spiritual advice, or to Genji, who knows, at least, what it is to have a very complicated relationship with one’s family, or to Lúcio, with whom she shares the most interests.  Yet, time and again, it is Angela to whom she goes when she has problems, even if Angela never gives any advice, and has yet to master the art of giving a comforting hug, even if she is trying, these days, to do so, awkwardly patting Fareeha’s back when she feels it appropriate.

(This, Angela unintentionally answers for the both of them, when she observes that trusting Fareeha is easier than trusting anyone else, because she knows that the feeling is reciprocated.  Vulnerability feels less so when the both of them are opening up, when Angela gives just as much of herself as Fareeha.  Although their problems, their fears, their insecurities are very different, they _need_ similarly, and are therefore able to feel a little less alone, a little less silly for having expressed such.  When Fareeha confesses that she is afraid that, even now, her mother would not be proud of all she has done, despite her many achievements, Angela is uniquely suited to comfort her.  After all, as she later admits, she fears what her parents would think of her own life’s work—would it be an abomination, in their eyes?  Knowing that Angela, too, wants approval, no matter how certain she is of her path in life, makes Fareeha feel a little less childish for wishing for the same. They _fit_ together, like pieces of a puzzle.)

Fareeha is curious: why is it that she finds Angela, a woman decidedly married to routine, so endlessly fascinating?  Within three weeks of knowing one another, Fareeha could have guessed on any given day what Angela would be eating, and within two months what she would be wearing.  Unlike Fareeha herself, who likes to try new things, who embraces spontaneity outside of the necessary regiment of military life, Angela is decidedly a creature of habit.  Surely, she ought to bore Fareeha by now.  Yet it seems there is still, somehow, always something new about her for Fareeha to learn, always some curious contradiction to be unraveled.  No matter how many Tuesdays in a row Angela wears the same black turtleneck and grey slacks, there is always something about her which manages to hold Fareeha’s interest.

(This does not matter, truly, for by this point Fareeha is attached enough to Angela emotionally that Angela would not _need_ to confound her to keep her attention, but that is also the answer, in and of itself.  Because Fareeha has feelings for Angela, anything that Angela does holds more meaning, for Fareeha, than it would were she anyone else.  It is a strange way to realize you are in love with someone, admitting that they are, at their core, somewhat boring.  What does that say about Fareeha?  Only this: that it is a comfort, in such an uncertain world as they inhabit, to always know what she can expect from someone, to always know that she will have Angela to speak to when things to wrong, to always know that come what may, Angela will be there, and she will feel safe at her side.  Even if, tomorrow, she wakes up and realizes there is nothing new about Angela to discover, Fareeha suspects she would not mind, terribly, for familiarity has become something to love in and of itself.)

Fareeha is curious: how can a woman as smart and self-aware as Angela be simultaneously so clueless?  Far be it from Fareeha to suggest that Angela is not good at introspection, but sometimes… Well, to hear Angela talk about what it is they have, between the two of them, to see the glances Angela gives her when she thinks no one is watching—either Angela is lying, when she says she is straight, or she is lying to _herself._ Nothing good can come of pressing, so Fareeha does not, bides her time because she knows that eventually, Angela will come around, and that she is worth waiting for.

(This is true, but in the end Fareeha could turn the question on herself, too.  Once Angela realizes that she is attracted to women, she wastes little time in informing Fareeha, and in saying _I love you_.  For whatever reason, certain as Fareeha is about her feelings, it takes her two months to reciprocate, not because she does not know—as she thought Angela did not—not because she is hesitant, but because it is a lot, to say something like that out loud, is wonderful and stressful and despite the sense of inevitability, not a commitment Fareeha is certain that she is ready for, at first.  If things go well, she does not see this as something that will be ending any time in the near future, and that alone would be enough to make anyone skittish.  Worse, still, is the thought that, should things go poorly, she might lose Angela not only as a lover, but also as a friend.  In the face of such, Fareeha understands better why it took Angela so long to even consider aloud attraction between them.)

Fareeha is curious: how can a scientist be so _in_ curious?  Although Angela knows a great deal about her chosen fields—is, in fact, _the_ expert in them—and is sure to keep up with all the emerging research which might inform and impact her own work, she is not terribly interested in learning anything else.  While Fareeha reads up on poetry, history, and philosophy, visits art galleries and museums, Angela is content to focus very narrowly, to learn what she can about that which already holds her interest, but not to explore anything new.  When Fareeha asks Angela questions about herself, trying to navigate and establish the boundaries of their very new relationship, Angela does little more than turn the questions around, is never the first to open up a new path of inquiry.  Insofar as Fareeha can tell, Angela is content for things to stay as they are, never moving their relationship forwards.

(This, as it turns out, is not the result of incuriousness at all.  Rather, Angela simply believes that Fareeha will tell Angela what she wants to know when she is ready to do so, and there is no need to press in the meantime.  Instead of being disinterested in Fareeha’s affairs, Angela is simply attempting to respect her boundaries, and trusts that in time, all of her questions will be answered.  Perhaps such a belief is a bit naïve—or perhaps Angela is simply better at taking things on faith than she is—but Fareeha is touched, nevertheless, by the sentiment behind it, finds herself explaining, rather embarrassedly, that no, she is a _happy_ crier, and her tears are, really, not anything to worry about, in this case.)

Fareeha is curious and then, after they have known each other for two years, and been in a relationship for nearly one, she finds herself less and less so.  Life with Angela has not become boring for its familiarity, and sometimes something she says or does will still strike Fareeha as strange, but no longer is Fareeha’s primary concern an attempt at answering some question, solving some mystery.  Instead, she is happy with the way things are, and has more than enough to satisfy her drive to _learn_ and to _know things_ elsewhere in her life.  Although there are still some things she wonders about, privately, she takes a cue from Angela and does not press when it would not be welcome.

Of course, a determination to not push Angela, to not put pressure on her by asking when—if?—she will be comfortable with the two of them progressing their relationship physically does not stop Fareeha from thinking about it.  Often.  Particularly after Angela has left her alone in her quarters, from 23:00 to 02:00.  Sometimes several times a night.

It may be understating things a bit to refer to her own masturbatory habits as simply being curious as to if, when, and how she will finally get into bed with Angela.  Fantasizing is certainly a better word for what she is doing than _wondering_ , but, fortunately for Fareeha, no one can call her justifications into question if they do not know that she is making them.

And, in fact, no one does know.  Given that Fareeha is determined not to pressure Angela into any intimate situations, it seems inappropriate to bring up that she is the subject of so many fantasies, of late, and there is no one on base with whom Fareeha would share this information.  In fact, as far as Fareeha can tell, most of their comrades thought she and Angela were sleeping together long before they were even a couple, and she feels no particular need to divulge that they are _still_ not doing so.  Really, it should not matter to anyone else, but Fareeha worries, if she brought it up, what the others might think, worries about how she would answer if they asked _why_ , as she does not know.  For whatever reason, Angela does not want to go any further than making out, and Fareeha is okay with that, really.  She is curious, of course, as to why, but she rather suspects that, like everything else, this is a question that will resolve itself in time.

(It does, eventually, in bits and pieces.  First, Fareeha learns that Angela is trans, and wanted to tell her before things went any further, just in case Fareeha noticed any of the scarring, but worried, at the same time, that by waiting until they were already in a committed relationship to disclose such might seem like a deliberate deception; it is an entirely unfounded fear, but one that Fareeha thinks is understandable.  Then, while they are in bed together, Angela admits that it has been a very long while since she last pursued a sexual relationship, and she had reservations about reentering one, after so long.  Finally, after they have been sexually involved for some time, Angela admits that, although she accepted that she could love women, when she fell for Fareeha, she spent the first few months of their relationship unsure if she was interested in women _sexually_ , or just romantically, and it took a great deal of self-discovery—or, as Fareeha might have called it _curiosity_ —to reassure herself that this was, in fact, something that she wanted, and that she would not ruin things by deciding mid-coitus that she was not interested after all.)

At most, Fareeha is _mildly_ curious, but it is not the burning sort of curiosity that leads one to search for answers, is simply something she would not mind knowing, if given the opportunity.  Outside of fantasies, she rarely wonders at all, after a few months. 

So it comes as a surprise to her when, suddenly, Angela changes her mind, and indicates that she is, in fact, quite interested in beginning a sexual relationship—then and there.  Far be it from Fareeha to say _no_ , but she does double and triple check that Angela is certain, and even then, what happens between them that night is something far closer to guided masturbation than sex proper, and when Angela offers to touch Fareeha afterwards, she declines.

After so long spent waiting, wondering if this would ever happen, Fareeha is the one who is not ready, is worried that they are moving too quickly, cannot make the shift in her mind from certain forms of contact being _not allowed_ to _desired._ It is a fine line, saying that she wants to go slower without sounding as if she does not want this at all; after all, they have been going slowly, moving not at all for many months.

Angela understands.  Or, rather, she does not understand, but she respects Fareeha’s wishes, knows that they do not stem from disinterest but caution, and together they gradually ease into sexual intimacy.  It takes time, learning to incorporate more physical displays of affection into their relationship, bur Fareeha is certain that, in the end, it will have been time well spent, that they will be better off for it.  It takes time and, throughout everything, Fareeha gradually adjusts to once again allowing herself to be curious.

What will Angela like, when it is not she who is calling all the shots?  How much of what she said that first night was fantasy, was bravado, was performance with the intent to titillate, and how much is truly her preference?  When she talked about what turned her on, it seemed almost submissive, the desire to be teased and to beg—yet as she did so, she told Fareeha precisely what to do in order to please her, and so it is hard to imagine that she would not like to be in control, at least to a degree, hard to imagine her ever surrendering completely, in any situation.

What will Angela want to do to her?  The fantasy Angela described was, as Fareeha asked, one focused on her own pleasure, how she would like a lover to treat her—she said nothing of what it was she would like to do to _Fareeha_.  Will she use her hands?  Her mouth?  A toy?  That, they have not even touched on—although Fareeha herself owns a few sex toys, and is far from shy about that fact, it has never come up in conversation, and somehow Angela does not strike her as the sort who owns many, if any.  Yet, she could be wrong.

What if they are incompatible?  It is one thing to be guided by one’s partner, step by step, through their masturbation routine, and to prove successful when following those instructions—it is quite another to decide for oneself what to do, to have to guess at what will bring one’s partner pleasure and to hope that one is right.  What if Angela hates her technique?  What if Angela grabs her hair on accident, and Fareeha freezes up?

That, at least, they can avoid by discussing the matter beforehand.  They do so broadly, and focus only on vanilla subjects, which Fareeha does not mind, certainly, as sex without certain acts can still be pleasurable, but she does make a note to broach carefully later, once they have gotten more used to this new dimension of their relationship.  Hopefully, Angela is willing to try a few things, but if not—if not, Fareeha will live. 

If their explanation of boundaries beforehand is perhaps more thorough than most, it is not without good reason.  Given that Fareeha is still not, by this point, entirely certain what Angela’s reservations about entering into a more physical relationship were, she has a healthy level of concern about what boundaries Angela may have, and the risk of potentially violating them.  Furthermore she is, herself, a thorough sort of person.  As a soldier, she may lead a high risk life, but as a _commander_ , she is well aware of the prudence of mitigating those risks, where possible, and such thinking extends to all aspects of her life.

And, in any case, there remains plenty for Fareeha to be curious about.  Knowing intellectually and _knowing_ , more intimately, are two different things, a distinction Fareeha eagerly awaits exploring.

Or, she is eager until the moment comes, and then she is nervous.  Not for any lack of experience, or because she is not looking forwards to this—she is—but because she has, perhaps, _overthought_ things, has, in her desire to know and to prepare, considered too much.  Now that the two of them are sat there, stripped down to their underwear on her bed, she cannot help but be distracted by the thought that there are so many ways this could go, so many things that might be done correctly or _in_ correctly, and—

—And Angela pulls her from her worry rather abruptly, when she tugs at her own bra strap and says, “Do you mind if I take this off?”

“Uh,” Fareeha says, “No?”  Then, after a moment’s pause, in which neither of them moves, “Should I?”

“Well,” Angela sounds as embarrassed and nervous as Fareeha is feeling, “It’s just that, I _did_ buy it for you.  But the lace is itchier than I anticipated, and—”

“Angela,” Fareeha says, before her girlfriend has the chance to continue, knowing full well that when she is nervous, Angela tends to overexplain things, “It’s fine.  Let me get it for you.”

(The fact that Angela bought it for her does explain, at least, why her normally very practical, plainly dressed girlfriend is wearing lingerie, and not the usual cotton underwear Fareeha has seen when they have done laundry on the same day.  Certainly, Fareeha appreciates the gesture, but it was entirely unnecessary—when she herself wears lacy undergarments, it is because she enjoys them, not with the intent of impressing anyone else, and she would find Angela beautiful no matter what she was wearing.)

“There,” says she, after having removed the offending garment and placed it on the dresser, “Better?”

“I suppose, though…” Angela blushes nearly the same pink as the bra Fareeha just removed, tongue darting out to wet her lips, “The panties itch a bit, too.”

“Eager, are we?” Fareeha is teasing as she says it, for she is certainly just as eager, her own hands already wandering down to play with Angela’s hemline.

“That is the idea, isn’t it?”  Whatever hesitance remains in Angela’s tone is belied by her smirk as she says this.

 “In that case,” Fareeha says, gently pushing Angela down onto the pillows with her free hand, “Why don’t you just lie back and—”

Angela resists the motion, “Do I have to?”

“No,” Fareeha tells her, “Of course not, I just thought you wanted me to—”

“I do!”  Now Angela is _really_ blushing, but less pleasantly so, “I just—it isn’t the most flattering angle, is it?”

“I mean,” Fareeha says, “I guess not, but… I really don’t think it matters?  You’ve already got me in bed with you.”

“Ah,” says Angela, “Right.”

For a moment, she hesitates, and Fareeha is about to suggest that they do not have to do this, or could switch positions, but then Angela settles back on her back, and smiles up at Fareeha, if a bit nervously.  “Sorry,” says she, “I didn’t think this would be quite so awkward.”

“It’ll probably be better once we actually get started,” and when Angela hums in agreement, she moves down to kiss her.

And, in fact, things are remarkably less awkward once they stop worrying and start _acting_.  When she kisses Angela, those motions are practiced, familiar, she already knows what her girlfriend’s preferences are from the months they have been together, and from there—Fareeha has more than enough experience to know, generally, what women like, and has a fairly good idea of what Angela in specific enjoys.

It is a balancing act, teasing Angela, for although she knows that is her girlfriend’s preference, she does not know, yet, just how long is appropriate, what would be too little or too much.

Fortunately, Angela is surprisingly vocal about what she likes, does not hesitate to tell her _slower_ when Fareeha begins to kiss down her abdomen, urging her mouth back up to her breasts for a minute or two more, demanding more attention be paid there, does not hesitate to say _just like that_ when Fareeha sucks at her collarbone with just the right amount of pressure, does not hesitate to say _more, please_ , _lower_ , when she has tired of teasing, finally, one of her hands lightly pushing Fareeha’s head downwards.

(Angela is careful, Fareeha notices, not to grab any hair, keeps her palm entirely flat, fingers hardly touching Fareeha’s head at all.  This, more than anything, helps Fareeha to stop being so nervous.  Never did she doubt that Angela would be a conscientious lover, but it is still reassuring to _feel_ her boundaries being minded.)

Fareeha acquiesces, but she takes her time in moving, kisses a slow trail down the center of Angela’s torso, lingers briefly on the patch of skin on her abdomen Angela identified as particularly sensitive.  She can feel the way Angela responds by the rise and fall of her stomach, a sharp inhale, a slower exhale.

When she reaches the hem of Angela’s panties—which, in the confusion over whether or not Angela was going to lie back or not, she forgot to remove—Fareeha repositions herself, pulls the flimsy garment carefully down Angela’s legs, and then settles in where it once was.

“You ready?” she asks, needing to hear it one more time to be certain.

“Yes,” Angela says, voice breathy by now, “I don’t think we’ll, ah—” she cuts off as Fareeha plants a kiss to the inside of one of her thighs, “I don’t think we’ll be needing the lube after all.”

For that, Fareeha is glad—she would have had no objections, had it been necessary, but Angela seemed embarrassed enough, bringing up the possibility, that she worries that using it would have been unpleasant _emotionally_ , and therefore not worthwhile. 

(And, certainly, she will not need to use it for herself.  Despite the fact that Angela has barely touched her, yet, Fareeha is already decidedly wet, just from the sounds Angela is making, the anticipation.)

Carefully, Fareeha brings her lips to Angela’s center, tastes her for the first time.  What she intends is to move slowly, to build things up, to measure Angela’s every response to stimulus, to know just what makes Angela _tick_ , to see which of her fantasies were accurate and which were not, but Angela does not seem to want such a thorough exploration, tonight, urges Fareeha rather quickly to move faster, to press harder, further upwards and _just a little to the right, please._

Whatever plans for taking her time Fareeha still harbored fall to the wayside when Angela says _please_ in that tone of voice, needy and wanting and just the right side of demanding.  Surely, there will be time enough later for her to map every inch of Angela—for now, she has a mission, wants to know what it is to feel Angela come unraveled beneath her, to hear her lose control.

Aided by Angela’s instructions—which, increasingly, resemble pleas—Fareeha very quickly determines what it is she likes, finds a pace that works, knows that she is applying just the right amount of pressure when Angela’s hips buck up into her, realizes she has found the right pattern when Angela’s thighs begin to shake on either side of her face, can tell that Angela is close when the hand on her head abruptly moves to fist in the sheets.

Things still take time, and Angela seems to hover at the point of not- _quite_ -there for longer than Fareeha herself would prefer, a minute passing, then two, Fareeha’s name a litany on her lips and her body trembling in anticipation, and for a moment, Fareeha begins to worry that she will not manage to push Angela over before the orgasm fades.

(Such would not be the worst thing, for they have all night to build Angela back up to that point, but it _would_ hurt Fareeha’s pride, a bit, and there is no knowing how Angela would feel about such, if she would enjoy it or think it were deliberate.)

Just when she is about to pull back, to sit up and ask what more it is Angela needs, to try and adjust accordingly, something shifts, and Angela comes with little warning, and hardly any more fanfare.  Were it not for the fact that she can feel the orgasm beneath her mouth, can hear the change in pitch in Angela’s voice as she says her name, Fareeha might not even know that it was what happened.  For all that she was vocal and dynamic in the lead up to her orgasm, she is surprisingly still throughout it.

Then, Fareeha’s nervousness returns.  Was it subpar?  Was _she_ subpar?  One mediocre orgasm does not a relationship end, but insofar as first impressions go, Fareeha would rather things had gone much better.

The fact that, nearly as soon as it is over, Angela is sitting up and scooting away from her, does nothing to alleviate her anxiety.

For a minute, they sit in silence Angela reaching for a glass of water on the bedside table and Fareeha trying—and, ultimately, failing—to wait for Angela to speak first.

“So,” says she, “Was it okay?”  Immediately, she regrets asking the question, and even more so regrets her phrasing.  There _must_ be a better way to have said such.

“Fishing for compliments?”  Angela turns, again, to face her, grinning.

“No,” Fareeha says, “I mean—I wouldn’t object but—you went quiet, and then sat up pretty quickly afterwards.  I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh,” Angela laughs, but out of nervousness, not amusement, “I didn’t meant to—I’m fine, really.  I actually, ah,” her voice gets quieter, then, and she speaks quickly, clearly embarrassed, “ _I tend to shut down when things are really good_.”

“I see,” says Fareeha, very relieved to hear as much.  She will have to ask, then, what it was that finally put Angela over the edge, so that she can be sure to repeat it, but before she can do so, her girlfriend continues:

“And as for sitting up, well,” she waves her hand, half a shrug, “If I get too comfortable in the aftermath I fall asleep pretty quickly.  And obviously I want to reciprocate, so….”

“That would be nice,” Fareeha admits.  Now that she knows that Angela enjoyed herself, is not worrying about that any longer, her arousal is returning to her.

“How would you like me to start?”

“Honestly,” Fareeha answers, settling herself down in the spot Angela previously occupied, two pillows below her head, “It doesn’t usually take that much to get me going, and I _was_ pretty turned on earlier, so…”

(That may be an understatement—Fareeha has always _greatly_ enjoyed going down on her partners, and if Angela looked, the evidence of such would be plain to see on Fareeha’s underwear.)

Angela hums in agreement, but instead of moving immediately between Fareeha’s legs, she bends down and kisses her deeply. 

From there, she trails kisses down Fareeha’s jaw, her neck, the upper part of her chest.  Now and again she pauses, sucks _just_ gently enough not to bruise, then plants a gentle kiss against the almost-marks she has left.  It is tender but—she is cautious, too, Fareeha can tell, although she does not know what reason Angela has to be so.  Surely she knows by now that Fareeha will not break.

For a minute, Fareeha allows this careful exploration to continue, then two, then three, but when Angela pushes the cups of her bra down, toys with her nipples—then, Fareeha does interject.  From their prior conversations, Angela knows that Fareeha’s breasts are not particularly sensitive, and does not seem to have forgotten that, given that she ignored them for most of the evening.

“You’re stalling,” Fareeha does not realize, until the words leave her mouth, that it is the case.

Angela sits up, kneeling beside Fareeha’s ribcage, “Sorry,” and then, before Fareeha can ask why, or remind her, again, that they can stop at any time, “I haven’t really done this before.”

“ _What?_ ”  While there was some discussion of relative inexperience, in all their conversations Angela never once let on that she had _no_ experience.  “You didn’t tell me that you—”

“No!” Angela knows, clearly, what Fareeha is thinking, “No, I’m not—no.”  A pause, during which Fareeha rather impatiently awaits her explanation, “It’s just that all of my exes are men.  _Cis_ men.”

 _Oh._   Fareeha feels a bit better about that, at least, and also a bit silly for her prior assumption.

“In that case,” Fareeha says, “I imagine the principle is the same, even if the anatomy isn’t.”

“Right,” Angela agrees, “Although the concentration and distribution of nerve endings is very different, and—”

“You’re a doctor,” Fareeha points out, “I’m pretty sure you can find the clit.”   Angela does not laugh, and Fareeha changes tactics, “Just pay attention to how I respond, same as you would with anyone else.”

“It’s been a while,” Angela admits.

“It’d been about a year and a half for me, too,” Fareeha is quick to reassure her.  As seeing as they are all currently in violation of international law, in the Recall, it is rather difficult to maintain an active sex life.

Angela’s frown deepens, “It’s been almost a decade, actually.” 

Well, _that_ Fareeha has no answer to.  A _decade_?

“Not because I didn’t have the opportunity,” Angela clarifies, “I just didn’t want to.”

Fareeha sits up, then, puts a hand on Angela’s shoulders and says, “You really, _really_ don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” Angela pushes her back down, gently, “Don’t worry, I do.  I want this— _you_.  I’m just nervous.  That’s all, Fareeha, really.”

“Okay,” says she.

And, “Okay,” Angela repeats.

“You should probably, um, get started, in that case.”

(It is not that Fareeha is _impatient_ , exactly—although she is—but that she genuinely believes that simply doing something is the best cure to worrying over it.)

This time, Angela does.  In a manner far more businesslike than sensual, she divests Fareeha of her underwear, and moves between her legs.  When she props herself up on an elbow, Fareeha has to stifle a laugh at the look of _concentration_ on Angela’s face, and determination.  Clearly, she is approaching learning this with the same sort of rigor that she devotes to her scientific pursuits.

(Given Angela’s success in that field, Fareeha is certainly not complaining.)

Still, the first touch of her tongue is light, almost tentative.  Given the number of times, now, that they have stopped and then started, Fareeha can appreciate that Angela is beginning somewhat gently, can understand wanting to ease her back into things.

Only it becomes clear, and relatively quickly, that Angela is not doing anything of the sort.  Instead, she is doing what Fareeha intended to—very, _very_ thoroughly exploring every part of Fareeha, cataloguing her every response, varying the pressure and frequency with which she licks, or sucks, and humming thoughtfully in response whenever she draws a particularly strong reaction from Fareeha.

With another lover, Fareeha might provide instructions, might feel compelled to talk them through what she likes, what she wants, what she needs, but she knows, by now, that Angela is meticulous, is orderly, and a quick study besides.  If she has to, she will intervene, but, frankly, she doubts that such will be the case. 

(And she worries, too, about interjecting now.  What she intends as guidance may all too easily be misunderstood as a _correction_ , may do far more to discourage Angela than push her in the right direction.  Far better to let her grow comfortable on her own, to figure things out at her own pace.  Even if Fareeha does not end up coming, it would not be so terrible—orgasm is hardly the _only_ desirable outcome from a sexual encounter.)

Fortunately, she need not worry about such.  In a handful of minutes, Fareeha goes from feeling intermittent sparks of pleasure to something far more sustained and consistent, building steadily.  Before long, Fareeha can feel an orgasm begin to build, knows that if things continue on the way they are going, that she will come, and sooner, rather than later.

She tells Angela as much—and when, suddenly, Angela’s movements shift, when she touches Fareeha in places that are less sensitive, and the orgasm dissipates, Fareeha chalks it up to nerves, to worrying so much about getting things right that she ceases to pay enough attention to Fareeha’s reactions. 

Or, she does the first time.  The second, she wonders, and the third?  By then, she realizes, Angela is _toying_ with her, is seeing just how close she can get Fareeha without quite tipping her over the edge, is very deliberately not yet letting her come.

Fareeha almost says something about playing with her food, when she realizes, has to choke back a laugh at her own pun.

 _That_ draws Angela’s attention, and she pulls back for a moment, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and quirks an eyebrow, “Something funny?”

“No,” Fareeha says, because she knows that it would only encourage Angela further, were she to say as much.  “Although, if you could stop teasing me—”

A frown, “I can if you like.”

“You don’t want to.”

“I’m not _teasing_ , exactly,” Angela insists.  “I’m curious.”

That, Fareeha cannot begrudge her, and she is, admittedly, curious too, to see how far Angela will push this, how long they will draw things out before one of them breaks.

(Usually, it is Fareeha who gives first, in any situation outside of her professional life.  She is simply not _patient_ , and so in long silences and awkward situations, it is she who is first to try and diffuse the tension.  This is not the same sort of situation, of course, but short of Angela’s jaw growing fatigued, there is every reason for Fareeha to be the one feeling the most pressure, for her to be the one who gives first—every reason but curiosity.  She wants, desperately, to know how this will end.)

“Alright,” she says, and lies back, no longer watching Angela, lets her eyes drift close so that she can better focus on the feeling of what is happening, and worry less about the process itself.

Angela brings her close to the edge, sucking on her clit just a touch too gently, the sensation wonderful but the pressure just not enough.  If Fareeha focused, if she just tightened her muscles, held her breath, then with a little more pressure maybe, _maybe_.  She begins to tremble, back arched and then—Angela backs off.

_Ebb._

As Angela returns to only gently tracing the outside of her labia, Fareeha focuses on breathing normally again, or as close as she can, relaxing and catching her breath before—

_Flow._

Once, twice, three times, Angela’s tongue flicks against Fareeha’s clit _hard_ , and there are sparks behind her closed eyes, and she cannot help but roll her hips into the motion, screws her eyes shut in anticipation, feels herself tremble and begin to go rigid when—

 _Ebb_.

Fareeha relaxes her tensed muscles one by one, first her face, then her legs, then her back, her arms, her glutes, and as she does so, she relaxes, too, into the feeling of the flat of Angela’s tongue laving across her in broad strokes.  It is not enough to do much more than sustain Fareeha’s arousal, to grant her a moment’s reprieve before Angela can move on and—

 _Flow_.

Angela’s tongue traces around her clit in tight circles, and Fareeha feels the very familiar tug of an orgasm building, feels, too, the desire to chase it, to focus only on that sensation and to lose herself in it, to let it consume her and—

_Ebb._

That does not happen.  In fact, Fareeha does not even try—knows, already, that she will come only when Angela wants her to, and no sooner, and there is no point in fighting that, really.  Instead, she focuses on the feeling of sweat on her skin, and thinks of water, the ocean, of the gentle crashing of the waves on shore as the tide comes in.

_Flow._

And surely as the tide, so, too, returns the pressure, the slow build of arousal as Angela works her up, closer, closer, until she can almost, let go, can almost get there.

_Ebb._

She almost sobs, this time, when she does not come, feels none of the contentment of last time only the want—need—for just a little bit more.  If she asked, of course, Angela would stop, would let her come, but then they would _both_ be curious, be left wondering how far this might have gone.  And Fareeha’s curiosity is greater than—

_Flow._

—Is greater than her desire for this to end, particularly when Angela moves one hand upwards to hold her own.  It is her prosthetic, so she cannot _feel_ the contact, not really, but she knows it is there from the way the rest of her arm is moved, and Fareeha is surprised by how intimate this all is, by the intensity of the emotions she is experiencing, is almost more focused on them than the attention Angela is, again, paying to her clit.

_Ebb._

And Angela’s reaction makes so much more sense now, because perhaps Fareeha has experienced more intense sex from a mechanical perspective, has been with more experienced or talented partners, but there is an intimacy to the moment, having allowed themselves to be vulnerable, to be insecure, which leads to an emotional intensity, lending itself towards a feeling of inevitability, a sense that they have been building towards this moment for months, in their own ways, and—

_Flow._

It catches her off guard, this time, the increase in pressure, and Fareeha does not even have to try, does not need to focus, for her orgasm to roll over her like the tide coming in.  Unlike most of the orgasms Fareeha has had before in her life, she did not need to concentrate in order to achieve this one, is able to focus more fully on _all_ of the sensations which accompany it, physical and emotional.  It crashes over her, a wave breaking on the shore, and she grabs Angela’s hair in free hand to anchor herself, to hold herself in place until the frantic beating of her heart slows and the roar in her ears quiets and—

—her face is wet.

“Are you alright?” Angela asks, moving to kneel over her, bright eyes peering down at Fareeha’s face and a thumb moving up to brush at her cheek.

“I’m fine,” Fareeha says, although it does not nearly capture what it is she is feeling, in the moment.

(In truth, Fareeha does not think she could capture the feeling in words if she tried.)

“You’re crying,” Angela observes, and Fareeha hears all her own worries from earlier reflected back to her.

“I know,” says she, “But it’s good crying, I promise.”

“If you’re certain…”

“I am,” Fareeha says, and she means it, she really does.

“Okay,” says Angela, “Okay, I believe you.”

“Good,” Fareeha says, and holds out her arms, “Now come here.”

Already, she knows how Angela will curl up against her—they have lain together many times, have fallen asleep in one another’s arms and drifted off to the sound of one another’s steady breath, her on her back and Angela’s head on her chest, arms wrapped around Fareeha as if to keep her safe—and she knows, too, that her sleep will be restful, that her last thoughts before she drifts off will be that she feels _safe_ and _content_.

Perhaps curiosity is the trait which others most often overlook in Fareeha, but she, herself, has overlooked something equally important.  Curiosity was only a part of what drove her here, but it was intimacy, was familiarity, which was more impactful.

Fareeha is curious, yes, is always going to be the sort who seeks new adventures, who tries new things, who wants a puzzle in her life to solve, but she is also a woman who, in a chaotic world, wants something familiar to return to, wants to know that she is safe, and she is loved.

(It seems that Angela is not the only one of them who values routine, after all.)

For so many people, it is Fareeha who must be stable, must be unwavering, must be their guardian—they see that, even when they miss her curiosity—and it is nice to know that she can find that comfort, that constancy, in her relationship with someone else.

(It is nice, too, to know that Angela does not need her to be strong always, can let her be vulnerable, for they know that each other are people first, and ideals second.)

Maybe it was not curiosity that truly drove Fareeha to Angela, after all, or was not after their initial encounter.  Maybe what Fareeha found most interesting in Angela was not her contradictions, but all the ways in which she is so very _boring_ , is deeply predictable, is adherent to routine.  Maybe it does not matter, for regardless of what brought Fareeha to this moment, she is happy, now, simply to exist in it.

Not all questions need answers, after all.

Not tonight, at least.  Tonight she is content to drift off to sleep in Angela’s arms, and to dream of nothing at all, knowing for certain what the morning will bring.

**Author's Note:**

> when i had to make a summary for this fic i died bc i have no memory of practically any of it like i wrote it all in 24hrs. so its just kinda a blur of me listening to wet songs on repeat.
> 
> which, speaking of which. wet is the band whose music got me to Really get into writing ovw fic and im seeing them live tmrw which should be a time bc ill be there like HEWWO?!?!?! if they play deadwater bc like. HMmm the bit abt ppl saying ur ur mothers daughter. fareehacore
> 
> the working title/save title for this fic is also a wet lyric (you whispered to me the waters fine) from 'love is not enough' but the actual title is... good old 1d... who were also responsible or my First ovw fanfic. specifically its from "perfect" but i cut out the words "oh yeah" bc i thought... eh thats filler. w/e w/e. thanks liam u came thru for once even tho harry outsold
> 
> anyway. hope u all enjoyed this. if u, too, would like to say "hey i wish u wrote ____" then i have both a tumblr (agenthill) and a twitter (pentilyet) and altho im more likely to get around to SPECIFIC suggestions via tumblr it takes 10 yrs whereas u can vote in my twitter poll rn LMFAO
> 
> pls lmk ur thots... i hope ur havin a great day... im gonna go nap


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